Shadow of Turning
by DamaDeHonor
Summary: Five years after she married John, Mary started having stranger dreams than usual. Last installment of "Half Lies", continuation to "The Fire and the Blood."


**4.14 spoilers**. And possibly anything before that, and in season 4, up for grabs.

Hopefully this will be the last installment (is that what it's called?) of "Half-Lies" and the continuation of "Fire and the Blood." But I thought I was going to end it with Half-Lies, so who knows. :D

**Warning/Rating:** PG, or PG-13. Please pay attention to the FanFiction rating I chose. There's probably a good reason for it. Thank you. :)

**Disclaimer:** Even though I would like to think I'm a genius, I don't own Supernatural or have anything to do with writing it. I merely attempt to do its characters justice, and have a little fun in their world. So don't sue me. 'Kay?

_The title is from the Bible verse, James 1:17 (KJV)._

**"Shadow of Turning"**

The dreams were worse tonight.

Dean woke up, sweat soaked into his shirt and his hair, making him feel damp and cold. His throat was dry, and the room was dark. He got up, trying to find the bathroom, quietly, trying not to wake Sam.

When he got out of the bathroom, Sam's voice came out of the darkness, groggy, "Dean? You okay, man?"

"Peachy..." He lay down again, but Sam switched on the lamp. Dean held an arm over his eyes. "As in, shut the lights off before I shut your lights."

"No." It was quiet, husky. There was something about the tone that made him peek at Sam, worriedly.

"Sam... All I wanna do is get some decent sleep."

"We need to talk."

"What about?"

"I'm going to use my powers, Dean. It's my choice."

Dean nodded, jaw clenched. "And when God's angels burn your butt off the face of the earth?"

"That's not gonna happen."

"You don't know that."

Dean got up, put his feet in his boots, didn't bother lacing them as he stormed out into the pre-morning darkness. It was cool out. Sam came after him a moment later. He stood next to him, shivering slightly. "Dean... we don't know that the powers weren't already there. Whatever Azazel did-maybe it just made them stronger. Maybe they're like Missouri's-natural."

"'Natural.'" Dean scoffed.

"Okay, so they're not all natural. Maybe they're not even right," Sam argued, voice rising gradually, "But would you feel the same if you knew Mom had powers? Would you think they were bad if Dad had them? Or is it just because it's me? Because Dad told you to watch out for me?"

Dean stared. His first impulse was to deck Sam, to floor him, but then he remembered Mary, charm bracelet on her fragile wrist... stormy look in her eyes. She would have kicked his butt if she knew he was fighting with Sam about something this... petty.

"I don't know."

"Dean, I want to tell you that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm not gonna turn into some monster, but I can't. I'm sorry. I can't give you that promise, and I don't think you should ask it of me."

He glared at the ground. Sam saw that he wasn't going to speak, and continued, "Look, Dean, what if you have powers? Or the _potential_? Wouldn't you use them to do some good? Even if an angel came down from heaven telling you not to?"

Dean fidgeted, looked elsewhere, anywhere but directly at Sam. He'd never told him. Why would he ask that question, in just that way?

When he eyed Sam, his brother was looking at him beseechingly, all the hurt and worry right there in his eyes. "I'm glad you know, okay? Maybe Dad was right... Maybe you still need to watch out for me."

"Come on, Sam!"

Sam looked away, and Dean took his arm. "Don't talk like that anymore! Dad was a hypocrite. He said to watch out for you, and then he goes and uses black magic to summon Azazel and bring me back from death's door. I think it's safe to say that he shouldn't be our moral compass."

Lips twitching with wry amusement, Sam asked, "Does this mean you forgive me?"

"For sneaking behind my back with that-?" Sam winced, and Dean sighed. "Yeah. Just don't lie to me again."

Sam nodded meekly, and Dean felt a twinge of conscience. He'd called John a hypocrite only moments ago, and now he was lying to Sam's face, right after telling him to never do it again.

"Come on," he said, "Let's go back inside before you catch a cold."

* * *

Mary was happy.

She was getting married soon, and everything seemed to be going great. Only...

It wasn't. And she wasn't happy. She had John, and that was enough to keep her going, but her parents were dead, and she felt the curse, hovering at her back like a familiar, but hated figure. If she turned quickly enough, would she see yellow, mottled eyes?

There was nothing she could _do_... except wait, and pray. Except... She couldn't just _wait._ She couldn't just do _nothing_.

The demon said he'd come back in ten years, but why? He'd said he'd take something, but that she wouldn't miss it. What did he want to take? What for? She couldn't trust him, no matter what he'd said. Demons lied.

* * *

He thought he was dreaming again. Only, he wasn't. And that was bad. Because he was seeing Sam die-die because of him.

The image of Sam in his arms, blood on his face, trickling in between the fingers of Dean's hands... too late... Sam was gone. Sam was gone... Oh, God-

"Dean!"

Gasping, he lurched up, and felt Sam's arms gripping him tight, as if they'd yanked him straight out of his nightmare.

When he finally caught his breath, he knew he couldn't say anything, couldn't let on, but he couldn't move either. He was frozen with a fear he hadn't felt since he'd been a kid. The kind that made you stupid and slow, and didn't go away until the lights were on and someone you loved was in the room, awake.

"Dean... oh, man..." Sam murmured, "It's okay... It's all right... " He reached out; Dean flinched, beginning to regain some conscious action.

He got up and retreated to the bathroom. He couldn't let Sam see him like this. He was pale. His eyes were so dilated they almost looked black. He paced, put the toilet lid down and sat, stared at the wall, chewed on his thumb nail and spit out the scraps.

Was the dream real?

If it was, then Sam was going to die-maybe not tomorrow-but some time in the indeterminate future. And it was going to be Dean's fault.

Because he refused to use whatever power he had. Because he couldn't get past his stupid prejudices.

What had Cas said? That it was a gift from God? What if Castiel wasn't who he said he was? What if he was a demon? Then could Dean really trust anything he said?

He spit out another piece of nail, then stopped himself. He was going to make his finger bleed that way. He already had enough bumps and scrapes to irritate him.

Dean finally got up and left the bathroom. He flushed the toilet to keep Sam from asking questions.

"Dean?" Well, so much for his master plan. "You okay?"

"What's not okay about me?" Dean sat to put on his shoes. Sam watched him for a few moments, with incredulity.

"Don't go out like this," Sam requested, and Dean felt what was left of the blood drain from his face. Sam was scared... for him. Because he looked that insane, that on the verge of breaking.

He sat there, trying to get ahold of his emotions, to figure out why he'd reacted that way. Usually Sam's worry annoyed the crap out of him. But this morning, it was making him feel... guilty.

"Dean?" Sam came and sat beside him, nudged his shoulder with an arm. "You want to talk?"

He could tell him the truth... He could tell him now. He'd already told Sam worse things. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, "What's left to say?"

It was a lie, but maybe neither of them were ready for the truth. Maybe that's what was really wrong with them.

Sam nodded, hurt look, shrug of his shoulder. "Okay." He got up and crossed back to his bed. "I'm sorry."

God, why was _he_ apologizing?

"Sammy..." Dean said, voice strained. For that moment, he almost told him, almost told him what he'd known for awhile now-that he had visions, too, and there was probably a reason for it, probably a reason neither of them was going to like. "Good night."

And then the moment passed.

* * *

Five years after she married John, Mary started having stranger dreams than usual.

At first, she thought they were just nightmares-the result of her marred past. And then, she had one during the day. She was reading a book on the sofa, and she must have dozed off. Because, suddenly, she was dreaming that the TV flipped on all by itself

It went to loud, painful static, and Mary dropped her book and tried to reach the TV, when the noise grew bad enough that she had to cover her ears. Before she knew it, she was on her knees.

When the pain went away, she found herself on the couch again, book on the floor, cover up, pages waving slightly as if it'd just fallen...

She reached to pick it up, and a voice, like a quiet whisper, stopped her. _'Do you trust God, Mary?'_

For some reason, she didn't question it, almost assumed it was just her own conscience, needling her, making her guilty. _'I don't know... I used to. I want to...'_

_'When the time comes, will you get out of bed?'_

Some words echoed back to her from her jumbled memory. She had no idea if it was real or not. She still answered, _'Is that what God wants?'_

There was no reply this time, and she sighed, and picked up the book.

_End_


End file.
